


Echo of Lazarus

by GucciAspirin



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, Angel Villanelle, Doctor Eve, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, the major character deaths are the ones that happen in canon, this will be very horny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GucciAspirin/pseuds/GucciAspirin
Summary: Villanelle is an angel of death who begins to obsess over Eve.Eve is a doctor who begins to obsess over death.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 37
Kudos: 194





	1. Villanelle I.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much about the medical industry besides my own trips to the hospital, so if there are any mistakes - just remember that this is an AU where all those mistakes are just actually how things work in this universe. 
> 
> All errors are my own. I don't own Killing Eve.
> 
> This is the playlist I listened to whilst writing. It's mostly instrumental, if anyone is interested: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2nz65NVG45ZPt8tAX5LGFg?si=kuavq0yfS5-_YSY-0715eg

She’d always liked watching Eve.

It was something about her stare and the darkness of it all. Just never ending hallways of nothing. Villanelle liked to go into that darkness. Not get lost, but bathe in it. Wash it over her skin like a ritual, soak in it. Villanelle wanted to wear it like silk. It was something to be boasted about, hung over the heads of those who did not understand.

Eve could look at a dead man and see nothing. She’d call it so easily. Roll her sleeve up just the tiniest bit to show a sliver of skin, and look at her watch. Say, “7:13 pm,” the words echoing around the operating room as the others around her appeared solemn, defeated, lost. Eve was none of those things.

It was those moments when Villanelle would take all of Eve in. And she would want for nothing in the world but for Eve to see her. To look at her.

Sometimes it seemed that their eyes _did_ meet, but then Eve would look away, and Villanelle would call out, “No. Eve. Look at me, I’m here,” she would say. “I’m here.”

The dead guy on the table rose. He was the only one looking at Villanelle, asking, “Where am I? Oh, God. I’m dead aren’t I?”

“Yes. Now shut up,” she said, continuing to stare at Eve. Lingering because she had time. She had all the time in the world.

Eve looked at the guy at the table. His actual body, not the gross ghost thing currently staring up at Villanelle in awe.

She hated ghost, and often wondered why she had to take them to the final step or wherever the hell it was she took them.

It was sometimes worth it when she had her little dates with Eve.

She liked watching Eve because of the way Eve moved her neck. How she turned away from the body and to her friend - Bill - and said, “What are you doing for lunch?”

Her neck was smooth, curving gently up the neckline and melting all together with her chest and collarbones. Villanelle wanted to trace her fingers against it. Just once. She imagined it would feel like velvet.

She also wanted to touch Eve’s hair. Eve had amazing hair. Villanelle thought about running her hand up the nape of Eve’s neck, tangling that hand into her hair and bringing her lips just close enough.

God she was horny.

“Are you an angel?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Villanelle said. “And you are going to hell.”

“Hell?”

“Yes. Hell,” Villanelle said, now walking away. He wasn’t following. “Well? Are you coming?”

“Why hell? What did I do?”

“Tax fraud,” Villanelle said. He looked like the type of man who would commit tax fraud. “Or um. Cheating on your wife,” she said, now smiling. She could only guess this mans sins, but from the look of his face, she’d guessed correctly.

“It was only once,” he said and began to ramble, but Villanelle stopped listening. She took one last wayward glance towards Eve. Eve looked back, staring hard. Dark eyes glowing under the bright lights of the hospital's hallway. Then her eyes started to shine on their own, and the light was just something that basked around Eve, illuminating her skin, that tender velvet.

“Eve?” Villanelle asked in a quiet voice.

“Eve?” Bill asked. “You coming?”

Eve turned away quickly. “Yeah. I just thought I…heard something.”

Like that it was over, and Villanelle began to walk the soul to the great door of bullshit.

He talked a lot, asked a lot of questions Villanelle did not know and did not care about.

Sometimes people were interesting, but more often than not, they were the same. Boring, scared, weak creatures.

“Who are you?” the famous question that was asked almost every time.

“Grim Reaper,” Villanelle said, walking steadily through the hospital halls to the nearest gateway.

Being an angel of death was a lot like being one of those people who brought carts back to grocery stores, except the benefits were better. Still. Boring job.

“Please don’t take me,” he pleaded, which Villanelle thought was strange because he was following her after all. She wasn’t forcing him anywhere. More of a guide.

Villanelle stopped. “So you want to stay here,” she said pointedly, “in this hospital. For eternity.” He wouldn’t be the first to choose that fate, but it seemed like a bum deal. Hospitals smelled really weird, and ghosts couldn’t eat the lollipops at the reception desk. Or have pudding.

The only good thing about the hospital was Eve.

Eve’s hair smelled like honey from her shampoo. Something by Garnier, Villanelle was sure of. Though sometimes she would go days without washing it, and it had a more earthy scent with a hint of something herbal - an oil maybe, or something dry to touch it up in the days between. But no matter what, Eve’s hair always fell the same. Deep black, long and curled. Something unthinkable that might drown you. Like drowning in feathers maybe,or toilet paper.

“I’ll stay here,” the man said. Only now did Villanelle _really_ take in his feeble state. Limp, fading, gray hair in patches atop his liver spot infested head. He was short, but she could tell it was the kind of shortness that came with age. His eyes were a fading blue. He had little, white hairs coming out of his ears.

“Yeah, no way,” Villanelle said, rethinking her decision to allow him to stay. “You are too creepy. There is already enough ghosts in here," she shivered, "Trust me, you are better off on other side of door.”

“What’s it like being a ghost?” he asked.

“Your mind will steadily leave, and you’ll just be stuck here. No one will be able to see you, except in faint traces. Your presence will start to shrink, not noticeably at first, but it will happen. You won’t even know it. After time passes you’ll just become an object here. Always staring, but never moving. A bedpan would be more useful.” Ghost were freaky. Constantly reaching out, asking to be taken away. There were only rare occurrences where ghosts managed to keep their consciousness, usually born out of some strong emotion like anger or love. Usually anger.

“I have kids,” he said.

Villanelle shrugged. “They’ll die too.” She made her black book appear. “Carl in 10 years. Heroin overdose. Stephanie in 50.” The book vanished from her hands. “Maybe you’ll see them. Maybe not.”

The man nodded slowly, and then began to cry.

Villanelle groaned, walking over towards him with a tissue in her hand. When he reached for it, she jerked it away, smiling down at him. “Come with me, and you’ll get the tissue.”

He looked up and nodded again. She gave him the tissue. Easy.

They walked towards the door, then opened it; placing her halo in the center ring of it. Once opened a blinding light flashed outward. Villlanelle squinted, looking inside of it but not really seeing anything. 

“There you go,” Villanelle said, gesturing towards the door. 

He looked at her, and then looked back down the hallway of the hospital. With a nod that was meant only for himself, he walked through the door. Villanelle didn’t bother to watch him as he continued to walk down the cave of light; closing the door almost immediately. She took back her halo, and with a flourish of her hand, it was gone - much like the book from earlier. 

She had no clue where the man would go. Her theory was that the souls all went to the same place just to be recycled here again and again, constantly forgetting who they were, always starting from scratch. An endless loop of climbing and falling that made Villanelle’s skin crawl.

She did, however, like the idea of Eve existing at all times. And though it was completely akratic, she liked the idea of Eve.

She didn’t see Eve again that day, but they would meet again soon.


	2. Eve I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for asphyxiation at the beginning.

Eve had seen a lot of people die due to her profession as a cardio-thoracic surgeon. She didn't keep count, but Eve imagined it was somewhere past sixty, and she expected to see more as she continued her career. 

Expected being the key word. She didn’t expect her death.

But in the back of some kitchen her medium rare burger had brushed upon someone else's shellfish - the one allergy that Eve had. Cross contamination. 

Eve chewed the burger, bread sticking to the roof of her mouth and beef sinking between the tiny creases of her teeth. By the time she swallowed, Eve knew that she was in danger. 

Elena looked at her, eyes narrowing in confusion at the contortions on Eve’s face, the redness spreading over her cheeks, down to the V of her neck and further underneath her sweater.

Eve clutched her throat with both hands, wrapping her fingers around her neck as her breathing strained. “Shellfish,” she hissed. Fucking shellfish. She stood and quickly fell as the pain wracked all through her body. 

Bill was then coming at her, speaking loudly, but Eve couldn’t process the words. She was hot. By now she was sure her face had become puffy. Her vision had blurred, everyone around her slowly mixing with one another as specks splayed out all over her vision.

She tried to gulp in air, but it wouldn’t come. 

Eve forgot her pen.

She was going to die.

She did die.

But then she woke up to the steady sound of a beeping monitor. She opened her eyes and saw the familiar speckled ceiling.

She saw that ceiling more than the one in her apartment.

“Eve?” Niko’s voice permeated through the room like a roar, harsher than the beeps of the heart monitor and god knows what else was attached to her. She hadn’t heard from him in over a month.

Trial separation before the impending divorce that Eve knew was coming.

When her eyes found him, she pointed to the ventilator shoved down her throat.

It wasn’t her first time on a ventilator, but it didn’t mean she hated them any less. Constantly gagging but unable to swallow her spit. It was impossible to not feel disgusting.

Niko nodded. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Eve was surprised by the amount of relief she felt when he left. Still, she was glad he seemed to be doing okay.

She just didn’t know how to speak to Niko anymore.

At some point Eve lost track of him and began to only focus on the hospital. That’s when their marriage began to crumble. It happened slowly. Nineteen years in the making, and Eve knew it was her fault, but she didn’t feel as much guilt as she probably should.

Eve laid back down and turned on the television in her room. _EastEnders_.

She’d gotten through half an episode before Niko came back with Bill.

She was happy to see Bill. Mostly because it meant she’d be getting the tube pulled from her throat. Elena followed them in, giving Eve a small wave. Everything was fine, and then Frank came in as well.

“I’m glad you’re breathing,” Frank said, towering over her.

If Eve could talk she would have told him that there was no need for two (three if you counted Eve) doctors, _and_ a nurse practitioner to be in the room. Especially since she had Niko as a visitor. In truth, none of them should have been attending to her. There were plenty of ICU doctors around, but she didn't mind Elena and Bill. 

Frank on the other hand.

“Your oxygen levels seem to be okay. We’ll need to do a swallow test after all this, though,” Frank said. “Perhaps a barium swallow as well.”

Eve rolled her eyes. There was absolutely no need for a barium swallow. It wasn’t that big of a deal. A simple allergic reaction. Though, Eve figured she would have a good case to sue the restaurant, not that she would because it was too much work.

“You died, Eve,” Frank said, and then added, “At that little… party I was seemingly not invited to.”

“Frank,” Elena said. “It was just a random thing. We didn’t think to-”

“Call you,” Bill chimed in. “We all kind of just showed up. Totally unplanned.”

“Completely unplanned,” Elena said, nodding.

Niko covered his his face with both hands, eyes peaking out between his fingers as he sighed with irritation. “My wife just died. Will you stop squabbling and take out the damn,” he gestured to the tube halfway down Eve’s throat. 

It had been a long time since Niko referred to her as his wife. It showed on the faces of everyone in the room, even Frank who clearly still had more to say.

“Very well,” Frank said.

Elena held Eve’s hand, supporting her head as Bill began to take the ventilator out.

“On the count of three,” he said, “One. Two. Three,” and then it was ripped away from Eve’s mouth.

She sputtered, spit leaking out of her mouth as she coughed, hacking so hard that her chest began to ache. “I died?” she asked, as soon as she stopped coughing. Her voice was hoarse, and there was a small discomfort that came with talking.

Niko stepped forward. “I told you,” he said, “You always need to have your EpiPen.”

Right. The pen.

“Auto resuscitation,” Elena said.

“Never seen it before,” Bill commented.

“I wish I could have seen it.”

Everyone ignored Frank.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Bill asked.

“Burger. That fucking burger,” she said, thinking about how she’d probably never touch one again, or at least not for a few weeks.

It was hard to explain the last thing she truly remembered. Like trying to explain why darkness was frightening.

_She’d closed her eyes, and then she couldn’t open them. Physically she could, but she didn’t have the courage to actually open them. Pain was soaring down her throat, a hand grabbing at her. And she still couldn’t open her eyes because she knew that something was there. Something terrifying that she couldn’t bare to see._

_She felt it just as much as she felt the agonizing pain in her lungs when she gasped for air._

_A hand brushing her cheek so gently that Eve thought she might cry, except she was crying, though not voluntarily; eyes watering as she tried to breathe. The hand stayed with her. It felt like soft light, a hand of water; running down to her neck, to her chest, to her heart until the light was inside of Eve._

“Um. I don’t know,” Eve answered, coming back to the question. “I couldn’t breathe and then I guess I ended up here.”

Bill nodded and flashed a light in her eyes. At some point they had entered the phase of examination.

Elena was on the other side of her checking vitals.

Neither of them needed to be there, but it was their quiet way of being sweet. 

Frank left wordlessly at some point, or maybe he did say something, but no one had cared enough to respond.

Eve was tired. God she was so tired.

“There’s no reason to keep you in ICU,” Bill said.

“I’ll get the speech pathologist,” Elena said, leaning in. She gave Eve a quick pat on the cheek. “You had me worried,” she said.

“Both of us,” Bill said. “Next time you die, try to do when I’ve had a little less to drink,” he added with a wink, eyes crinkling around the edges.

“I’ll try my best if one of you can bring me a croissant from the cafe.”

Elena began to walk away. “Get one yourself after the swallow test. You should be good to go.”

Bill followed her out.

“I’ll get it,” Niko said with a wave of his hand. He was sitting down in the visitors chair next to her bed, eyes blood shot.

Eve could tell he was just desperate to get away from her. It didn’t matter. She wanted to sleep.

She sat in the room for twenty minutes, drifting between sleep and consciousness when the speech pathologist came in. The swallow test was quick. Easy.

Once the doctor left, she’d fallen to sleep effortlessly.

She dreamed of a hand made of water grabbing her face, touching her lips, caressing each one. Stroking her brow, her cheekbones, nose, eye lids, the nape of her neck, her ears.

“Eve,” a voice said, “Look at me. I’m here.”

Once again she didn’t want to open her eyes.

_Look at me._

“Eve.”

“I see you,” Eve said, dazed.

“Eve. You’re ready to go.”

Eve finally opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she took in both Hugo, one of the CN’s, and Niko hovering above her.

“Sleeping beauty,” Hugo said with a smile that was meant to charm Eve. “You are all free to go. Need help getting dressed?”

“I’ll help her,” Niko said, mustache tilting with his frown.

“You can go,” Eve said to Hugo.

“Be back with the chair,” he said.

Niko closed the door behind him, bringing Eve a pair of clothes. “Do you need…help?” he asked, looking down at Eve in her hospital gown.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “I think.”

He gave a firm nod and turned around like he hadn’t seen her naked hundreds of times in the past. It felt more like dramatics than shyness. Still, Eve wouldn’t say anything about it. They were passed the point of talking.

Niko took her back to her apartment, but didn’t speak for most of the drive.

Eve tugged on her over-sized sweater, and in response he turned on the car’s AC.

“Thank you,” Eve said.

“I meant it, Eve,” he replied. “You need to carry that pen around with you.”

When they went to places together, Niko usually remembered to take it for her.

“I know, Niko.”

Niko parked outside of her apartment unit, and Eve suddenly missed the sound of the car's movement. Now there was just the low whistle of the AC. She shifted in her seat, unsure if she should say something or get out. She didn’t really have anything to say, so she touched the handle of the door. She lingered, almost out of respect, feeling like she should say something to him. _Sorry_ , maybe. But that didn’t feel like the right thing to say.

“I want to go through with it,” he said, looking at her. “The divorce.”

Eve took in a long, but subtle breath, filling her lungs completely and finally exhaling. It was mostly to feel the space in between them, so she wouldn't speak to quickly. “I know,” she said, after another beat. 

Something seemed to release inside of him at that. He sighed and swallowed, resting his head back into the the brown leather of his seat. He was free. Free of caring, or free to care too much - Eve would never know. 

“Thank you,” she said, quickly adding, “For the ride.”

He nodded. Eve left.

She didn’t watch his car as he drove off, turning around almost immediately.

Her apartment was quite, dark, though she didn’t mind it. It was different from living with Niko, though. In their house, everything seemed to have a worn, yellow tint. Warm, smothering. It was a modest house, despite Eve’s salary. 

Her apartment was nicer.

She went to the kitchen, and poured a glass of brandy, but as she did so she realized that Niko had not gotten her a croissant. She made the next best thing, a hot pocket.

She ate in the living room, turning the TV on just to escape the quiet.

Her apartment felt so big despite being smaller than her house. The darkness in it swallowed her as she sat and drank her bourbon. She thought of the hand swallowing her, and thought it might be like a wave coming up and over the shore. 

Eve placed her hand over her heart, feeling its steady beat. She squeezed, as if trying to make it stop. She’d seen so many hearts stop, but never thought of her own.

The bourbon made her fuzzy, made her thoughts drift more than usual. She envisioned the hand going into her chest, squeezing tightly, pumping until her heart began to ring again. Then she remembered all of the times she gave someone life.

_Auto-resuscitation._

That didn’t feel like the right word to Eve.

The hot pocket was long gone, and she thought about getting up to make another one. She also thought about another glass of bourbon; but eventually her exhaustion gave out once more and she fell into a deep sleep.

Once again, there was the hand.

* * *

A few days later, and Eve was back at work.

She didn’t like having too much time off. Not because she loved her job - though she liked it enough - but because she got bored easily. She wasn’t great at most traditional hobbies, and she didn’t have a kid - much to Niko’s demise.

“Your rounds, Eve?” Frank asked when he noticed she was going in the opposite direction of the cardiology wing.

“I have to go to the loo.”

He gave her a disinterested look before glancing back down at his chart and walking away.

Eve made her way to the door of the bathroom, barely noticing the woman behind her as she went straight to the closest, open stall.

After, she went to the sink, washed her hands and began to freshen up. She liked to look decent before rounds.

Eve let her hair fall from its ponytail and began combing it with her fingers.

From another stall, a woman came out.

Eve continued to smooth out her hair, then started to draw it up back into its pony tail. She stopped halfway through putting it up. The woman was staring at her.

Eve turned her head. Her hand dropped, the hair tie falling out of her grip and onto the bathroom floor.

Eve had never seen her before, she knew that, and yet she felt like they had met before.

She was wearing a blue nurse uniform, which bothered Eve because Eve was sure that she didn’t work at the hospital. She couldn’t. Eve would had noticed her.

Her catlike eyes were focused on Eve, pupils slightly dilated. The woman’s lips parted, a perfect, pink o shape. Eve could see the faintest sliver of tongue as it rested inside of her mouth. Eve dragged her eyes down trying to find a name tag, but there wasn’t one. Eve’s eyes continued to descend. Looking at her arms, both long and smooth. Liquid wrists that lead into soft hands, slender fingers, clean nails. The woman's hand twitched, just the tiniest bit, now facing inward atop the sink.

Eve looked up, wanting to see her face again. 

“Can I help you?” Eve asked.

The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. She turned away, showing the shining brownish-blond of her hair, tied up and neatly braided in the back.

At the exit, she stopped. Her hand crept along the edge of the door, fingers on the inside, palm on the out.

“Wear it down,” she said in the same way a priest would say amen. A command filled with reverence. 

Before Eve had the chance to speak, the woman left.

She wore her hair down for all of her rounds, only tying it up for a surgery she had later that day. 

When it was time for Eve to go home, she was stopped by Elena.

“You’re lucky you get to leave,” she said. Eve noticed there had been more bustle than usual around the hospital. Police were there too, but that wasn’t uncommon.

“What happened?” Eve asked.

“Patient died in the woman’s bathroom by room 417.”

Neurology, Eve thought to herself. That had been where she’d seen the woman.

“Natural Cause. Just wandered out of her room looking for the shower. But now we’ve got this,” she said, referring to the police officers roaming the halls.

Elena’s pager began to beep and she looked up apologetically. “See you.”

Eve waved and left.

For dinner she had a bottle of Pinot Noir and a salad that she picked up from McDonald's.

She missed Niko’s cooking more than anything. Finding the motivation to cook for herself after long days at the hospital was nearly impossible.

Bill and Elena frequently invited her over, or brought her meals - and she was grateful - but she couldn’t expect that every night.

She tossed the empty container that once held her salad, and drank the rest of her wine before heading to bed.

She wasn’t thinking of the hand any more. It had been replaced by images of that woman.

And as she lay in bed she thought about how long it had been since she had an orgasm. The wine was making her feel like silk.

When Eve closed her eyes, she saw her.

Her eyes, and the shape of her mouth, and how her voice sounded almost sweet when she spoke, soft. Her fingers resting on the door. 

Eve put her own hand down her sweatpants and under her underwear. She was wet, and it had been such a long time since that happened.

The woman’s hands looked soft, and maybe they’d feel like water, maybe her tongue would taste like wine. 

Eve rubbed her thumb along her clit, grinding up into her hand. She began to pant as she swayed, not gently, but desperately against her palm.

The only thing that could be gentle was the hand that caressed her cheek.

Eve bit her lip, bringing her other hand up under her shirt. She put her palm over her breast, thinking of the woman’s breast and what they might look like, what they would feel like. What she might feel like. And in this exploration she was gentle.

Her hips continued to rock against her hand, teeth sinking deeper into her lip until she felt a slight sting.

She wanted to drag it out so she could feel it completely, but it wasn’t possible.

With the woman in mind, she shattered. Not like glass, but like something hard. Slow, chaotic, falling away in vast masses. She continued to ride her hand until the illusions faded and all that was left was the smell of her want.

Eve fell asleep after, the face of the woman lingering in her thoughts. 

* * *

The next day, Eve found a rotten apple in her locker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for any comments/kudos left :)


	3. Villanelle II.

Eve died.

It was expected. Villanelle’s book had the name and time of death of every human; and Villanelle always kept several years of the book memorized at a time.

The first time she’d seen Eve was six weeks prior to her death after she transferred territories.

Villanelle was with a kid, taking him to the doors. Eve walked past her, but then stopped to look at Villanelle, or at least it appeared that way. Her black hair was pulled out into a loose bun, a clipboard and pencil in her hands. Dark, steely eyes stared back at Villanelle.

It all lasted less than a second.

When Eve looked forward again her gaze wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. Just eager to keep moving, completely instinctual.

Villanelle wasn’t good at ignoring even the simplest of curiosities, and Eve made her curiosity flare. Villanelle dumped the kid by the opened doors, and followed her.

She watched Eve prep for surgery, retying her hair up and looking into the mirror. Eve’s knuckles braced against the sink like some kind of prayer. She let her head fall, closing her eyes, then snapped them open after on a long exhale.

Her irises darkened, pupils dilating just the tiniest bit. Then she was on her way to surgery.

Villanelle observed the meticulous way Eve moved her hands as she operated with clear, precise orders. She didn’t waste any time doing anything, completely vigilant on what was in front of her. It was almost mechanical. Her humanity still in tact, but shaded. Occasionally Eve would stop to think. Small stops that lasted a second, giving the rest of the OR a chance to catch their breaths. Even then, Eve’s hand never stilled. She’d either circle her hand around or roll her wrist. 

Her hands only stopped when the patient was stable. And then she turned away from them completely, brown eyes filling with warmth as she let out a breath. 

All of her surgeries were like that. Even when the patient died, which Villanelle had only seen once in her weeks of watching Eve. 

There was no satisfaction with her saving a persons life, no pride; just the simple need to move on to the next thing. To go to lunch with her friend Elena, or maybe Bill. To talk about her divorce. To make jokes, and complain about her day, and discuss movies she’d seen over the weekend.

Villanelle continued to watch her every now and then.

Eve's bed manner was terrible, not that she wasn’t charming - she just wasn’t charming in the right ways. She’d joke about things patients didn’t find funny.

Villanelle thought it was funny, though. 

She also had a tendency to be too severe at the wrong times. She never aimed to conform, she aimed for truth. Sometimes past the truth. Sometimes she’d push the worst possible outcome - though not with genuine concern. It was more of an estranged panic. A judgment on her own possible performance in the future.

Villanelle's curiosity lit atop a pyre.

But then Eve was dead, just as the book said.

Her body lay limp in her friend Bill’s arms, face puffy.

Usually when people died from an allergic reaction, Villanelle’s first thought was blow fish.

She didn’t think that when Eve died.

Instead her eyes became glassy as she stared at Eve’s lifeless body. Eve's soul was leaking out of her, and soon it would rise completely. 

She looked Eve up and down, then winced at the sound of the ambulance that had come two minutes too late.

More and more of Eve's soul began to materialize outside of her body. All Villanelle needed to do was expand her wings and escort Eve to the doors. That was what she was supposed to do, what she'd been doing almost every day for the past 2433 years. 

Villanelle plunged her hand into Eve's chest, wrapping it around Eve's heart and pumping. She didn’t think about why she was doing it, she just did it. Moving her hand quickly, waiting for the paramedics to reach Eve’s body. It wasn’t something she thought would actually work; after all, anything she touched withered and died.

It was just thought sometimes the deaths in her book weren’t permanent deaths. The book couldn’t predict resuscitation.

Villanelle stroked Eve’s cheek with her other hand, no longer paying attention to how limp Eve’s body was. More than anything, she wanted to see Eve for another day. There were still things she needed to know. Why she was getting a divorce, why she sometimes seemed extremely empathetic and at other times devoid of empathy, why she tried so hard despite not caring.

Villanelle continued to pump her heart. “Eve,” Villanelle said, staring down. “Look at me. I’m here.” Words she’d said before.

Lungs expanding, an extra pulse in her hand; Villanelle smiled down at Eve and removed her hands completely.

Her blood felt hot as an unforeseen excitement took over her.

Eve’s spirit fully retreated into her body.

It was the first time Villanelle had ever given a life as opposed to taking it. Villanelle continued to look at Eve, thinking about how her skin felt. Not like velvet, but like skin. And somehow the actual reality of Eve was better.

Villanelle reached out as she was being taken away, eager to feel the warmth of her skin again despite knowing that she couldn’t.

She watched, and she smiled.

* * *

The way home was an apartment Villanelle had on the earth plane. A small place that she didn’t spend much time at. In the closet of the apartment, was a portal to her villa in the ethereal plane.

It worked just like door. The moment Villanelle stepped through it, she was back in the ethereal plane, inside of her actual home. 

“What happened with Eve Polastri?” Konstantin asked, standing right outside the portal as Villanelle walked through.

Villanelle jumped back, screaming with her hand rested firmly against her chest. “You can’t just come over unexpectedly like that and stand in the shadows,” she said, taking in a solid breath of air. “It’s creepy.”

“I’m in the middle of the room,” he said, looking around the brightly lit portal room. “And actually I can.” His beard twisted around his smile. Most of the time, Konstantin was okay. Not exactly a lenient and fun Guardian angel to have hovering over her, but sometimes he made funny jokes.

The only other guardian angel Villanelle had worked with was Raymond, who was a total dick - though Villanelle would never admit out loud that she preferred Konstantin to him. She had to keep Konstantin on his toes, after all.

“Eve,” he reiterated. “She did not pass.”

“So?” Villanelle said. “She is a ghost.”

“She’s alive,” he said, his voice going harder.

“Fine,” Villanelle said, sighing. “I was embarrassed to tell you this, but… the paramedics,” she curled her hands into fist and punched them forward in a movement to signify resuscitation, making a harsh, “ _ba-bam,_ ” sound as she did so.

“That has never happened to you,” he said.

“It happens, Konstantin,” she said, lifting her hands haplessly.

“I’ll swap your territory,” Konstantin said, but Villanelle quickly interjected with a hurried, “No.”

“You said this one had too many hospitals,” Konstantin said, lifting his brows.

“I’m getting used to it,” Villanelle said, shrugging. “Also it’s fun to steal food from the cafeterias.” She grabbed his arm. “There’s no reason to change my territory when I just started at this one.”

He looked at her, dark eyes glowering as he dragged them to the place where her hand rested on his arm.

“I’m good at what I do,” Villanelle said. “You know that. Better than good. I am amazing.”

“They will clip your wings if what happened last time happens again.”

Villanelle dropped his arm. “I know that,” she said, folding her arms together over her chest.

“I’m looking out for you,” Konstantin said. He focused his now pensive gaze onto the ground.

“You can’t swap me without a reason,” Villanelle said confidently. “You won’t want to do a council over this.” Councils were always a pain - though they were fairly rare. Villanelle had taken part in only nine - all of them being brought on at her request with the exception of one.

Despite Villanelle’s past discrepancy with the human named _Anna_ \- a name that now seemed like a ghost to Villanelle it had been so long - the council usually gave Villanelle what she wanted. She was a pretty big deal. Breaking the rules was uncommon in the ethereal world, but with Villanelle’s reputation, most people overlooked her killing of Anna Aanmokoba.

Even if Villanelle did kill Eve - which she wouldn’t _(duh)_ ; she doubted her wings would actually be clipped.

They just could never find out about Villanelle’s reviving of Eve. That was a much bigger crime, though not something that someone could easily be accused of because resuscitation was getting more and more common.

Of course Villanelle always got to people before they had the chance to be saved, which was why she was so revered.

Only one other angel of death had a record on par with hers; but she was disgraced and ended up getting her wings clipped.

Clipped wings grew back, of course, but angels who had their wings clipped would always have ugly scarring along the lines of their wings. That was on top of the having to spend time on the earth plane for about 500 years while waiting for them to grow back.

“Be smart,” Konstantin said, pointing his finger. “You think you are untouchable - but you aren’t.”

“I am,” Villanelle argued.

“Earth plane is terrible,” Konstantin said.

“I know. I spend a lot of time there _doing my job_.”

Konstantin bristled. He lifted his finger, pointing at Villanelle. “If you got your wings clipped, you’d have to transport yourself places. With cars, and bikes and…” he looked down, “feet. And buy things. All the time.”

“Konstantin, don’t you know it’s rude to point,” she said. “And be in someone’s house uninvited.”

He laughed deep from his belly. “It’s rude?” he questioned, and then lifted his hands in defeat. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”

“You can stay if you want,” Villanelle said, trailing off. They hadn’t moved from the portal room. “Watch a movie,” she added so he wouldn’t think she was talking about sex. That would be gross.

“I can’t. I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to leave me alone, though.”

He laughed again then waved goodbye. His wings spread out, black and facing down towards the floor in a fork-like pattern. They flourished, and he disappeared.

“Later,” she said when he was already gone.

She left the room, walking towards her room. Within seconds of Konstantin leaving, her thoughts went back to Eve.

Eve.

_Eve, Eve, Eve, Eve._

“Eve,” she said, reverently, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she hovered over the v.

Eve gave life, Villanelle took it. Both were done in grand, sweeping gestures. The flourish of a scalpel. The flashing of wings. And yet, both were also completely typical for them.

The patient didn’t matter to Eve, _saving_ the patient did. And with Villanelle, humans never mattered - but her job was to end their ties to Earth completely, and she was determined to be good at that job. She liked that she was good at that job.

They could be the same in a sea of bleak irony.

There was romance in that. A connection.

Villanelle spread herself across the bed, stretching her body from the tips of her fingers, to the curling of her toes. She was naked with a thought, getting ready to do what she had done every night since she first saw Eve.

She moved her hand over the center of her body, neck to navel, stopping there and closing her eyes. For a moment she stayed still, soaking in the mattress beneath her. Slowly, she thought of Eve.

First she thought about Eve’s mouth. A sliver of her tongue darting across her lips. Pink, soft. Villanelle would kiss her in a teasing way, slow but with purpose.

After that she thought about Eve’s neck. Eve wearing a green turtleneck, and Villanelle pushing it down to reveal the column of her throat.

Eve’s hands were next. Steady hands, never faltering. Perfect hands. Precise. Villanelle would grab her wrist just to feel the quickening rabbit in her pulse.

On the bed Villanelle’s hand started to work, wetness collecting in between her fingers.

She would show that to Eve. Stick Eve’s hand down her underwear and let her feel Villanelle completely.

Villanelle bit her lip as she arched her back. She slid her feet up, bending her legs at the knee as she shifted her hips.

All the slowness began to leave her. She thought of Eve’s naked body. Eve straddling her, absolutely soaked with want. Eve’s hair around her bare shoulders as she moved against Villanelle.

Villanelle began to rock more erratically.

The smoothness of Eve’s abdomen and how it traced up to her tits, swaying as she moved. A shining glimmer of sweat down her sternum like peaking blinds with morning lights. Hands, lips, teeth, aching and the persistent movement of Eve’s hips, rolling in waves. Her name, soft and murmured - _Villanelle_ \- the _l’s_ hanging off of Eve’s tongue every time, creeping out from under shadows.

Villanelle came the was she always did when she fantasized about Eve: body trembling all over as her back thrashed deep into the mattress and she slid her fingers deep inside, reaching and taking everything she needed. No words leaving her lips, just faint cries as she rode it out completely before collapsing into the bed.

She smiled lazily. Even though being with Eve was theoretically impossible, she smiled.

She had an idea.

* * *

The only people who could see angels of death were those who had died before.

So Villanelle knew that Eve would eventually see her; but she didn’t expect the room to be filled with heaviness. She didn’t expect Eve to look at her the way that she looked at her.

Villanelle remembered it with a dream-like quality.

She was looking at Eve’s face, then her hair. Her hand twitched as she suppressed the urge to run her fingers through it.

Eve’s voice, as she said, “Can I help you?” with such quiet concern.

Eve could see her.

Villanelle wanted Eve to know her as well. She wanted Eve to dig for her.

Her original idea had been to dress up as a nurse and get to Eve directly, but after seeing Eve - she thought of something better.

Villanelle wanted Eve to come after her. But she wanted Eve to do that on her own - and when Villanelle remembered the way Eve’s breath hitched, how her eyes darkened as she looked back at Villanelle - Villanelle knew that Eve would.

Eve wanted her.

It was so obvious. Written on her body the way want is always put on display with humans.

Villanelle started a game.

And because Eve was named Eve, it started with an apple. Something that quickly withered in Villanelle’s hand, brilliant red going to mush within a minute.

Villanelle knew a lot about Eve. Stuff she’d collected over time just watching her. Eve was going through a divorce with some mustache man, but she didn’t have any kids. She was at the hospital a lot, more than most of the people who worked there. She was very good at her job. Her locker was 1078.

Villanelle looked inside of said locker. Extra clothes, a tooth brush, toothpaste, a wedding ring, dry shampoo, a bar of soap, a loofah. She only had one thong in her extra clothes pile - which was completely disorganized.

It was cute.

Villanelle placed the rotten apple atop the clutter.

The next day she stole the wedding ring.

Villanelle would make it so that Eve needed to seek her out. Despite wanting to be close to her, Villanelle would be patient and wait for the right time to reveal herself again.

After all, romance was like wine. The good ones were aged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore about Villanelle/angels is gonna just be kinda slowly ingrained/explained in this. Thank you for all the comments and kudos.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this will be around ten chapters - but that's tbd. Will update soon. There will be some lore about the angel stuff here and there, and a few appearances by other characters; but this is mostly going to be about Eve and Villanelle being horny for each other.


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